Letters and Explainations Series
by FourSilverArrows
Summary: Ezra finds an old letter. First story is The Found Letter, Second story is The Bisected Letter. Warnings: Language.
1. The Found Letter

The Found Letter

Universe: OW  
Characters: Ezra, Inez and Buck. Maude is mentioned.  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but The Found Letter. Not making a dime.  
Comments: This was inspired by a real "Found Letter" from the early 1900s.

Warnings: Language and No Beta.

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This was just like Maude Standish. If something was not related to a con or a hand of poker, she dumped it on someone else as quickly as possible.

Ezra Standish sat in the saloon and contemplated the three-foot-by-three-foot wooden box that came on the morning stage and the enclosed letter from Chicago.

His right elbow was on the arm of his chair, his hand near his face as he absently rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. His left hand flipped the envelope over to read the printed letterhead again.

Simmons & Sons Valuables graced the envelope and the letter. From what Ezra could glean from the letter, it was a storage facility of some sort based in Chicago.

He picked up the letter and once again read the precise words.

". . . as to the contents of this box, we are uncertain. The only certainty known is that a Maude Clyde Penderham listed you as a co-holder of the box. As we have not heard from Mrs. Penderham in six months and seeing as the bill is ten months overdue, we are expecting payment in full before releasing the other articles stored in our building . . ."

Ezra sighed and looked at the enclosed bill. The total amount for storage and upkeep came to $70.00 to be paid in gold coin. 'Good Lord, if I had that much, I would be in Ridge City trying the more active tables,' thought Ezra with contempt.

Since Ezra was a young boy, Maude had been a fiercely private woman. This sudden appearance of some of her personal items both repelled him and called to him. He was getting the distinct feeling of a naughty boy about to be caught in his parents' underwear drawer.

Suddenly sitting forward and moving the letter and bill out of the way Ezra readied his borrowed knife and cut the twine that held the box together on its wandering trip West.

It made him flush when he realized that he was sneaking looks at the doorway as if expecting Maude to stroll in and curse him for his snooping into her past. He shrugged the feeling away and pulled away the insulating hand towels.

The first item revealed was a mahogany hair comb with inlaid silver. Ezra picked it up and ran an appreciative finger over the detail work. It must have cost a fortune. He angled it so that the light from outside could sparkle across the metal and imagined the dark comb in his mother's fair hair. With the right color dress and silver earring, he could imagine her as a grand sight.

He allowed a small smile and then laid the comb carefully on the table then reached into the box again.

The next item was a beaded leather pouch. He opened it and was shocked to his core.

Inside were his metal tags that he wore in the War Between the States.

Ezra dropped them as if they were being heated by the fires of Hell and pushed his chair violently back from the table. He once again cast his jade eyes around the saloon to see if anyone had noticed.

The few midday drinkers were quiet as they stayed to their glasses of refreshment. The only men even talking were two farmers from the north end of the Seven's territory. Faint murmurs of rainfall amounts and crop damage reached the Southern gambler and he forced himself to relax.

He turned reluctant eyes back to the metals tags that were the size of his thumb pad. They were forged from melted down nails in a rustic camp in Northern Virginia. Some soldiers used the small things as identification in the event of death on the battlefield. Many did not want their families to suffer the uncertainty of never knowing what happened.

The tags were diamond in shape with the crude engraving of 'E. Standish, CSA, Cav.Art.'

Faint sounds of artillery and screaming horses floated in his head.

With a viciousness usually reserved for those that tried to cheat him at poker, Ezra grabbed up the tags and pouch and pushed them both down to the bottom of the box and covered them.

How in the Hell did Maude get her hands on them? He was sure he had thrown them into the Mississippi River on the first riverboat he stepped foot on at the end of the War.

It was some time before he was able to look at the box again. The sun tracked across the cloudless sky as he downed two whiskeys from Inez. Her dark eyes were curious as she brought him the drinks and saw the solid box of wood.

"Senor?" She could see a tightness around Ezra's eyes and mouth that usually was not there.

"Much obliged," he muttered as he put the whiskey to his lips and allowed the taste and warmth fill his mouth and slide down his throat. He was halfway through his shot when he noticed that she was still by his table.

"Senorita?"

Inez's dark hair flowed around her shoulders and she inclined her head. "Is all well, Senor?"

Ezra forced a smile. "All is well."

She looked uncertain but nodded and went back to work. Since his outburst at his mother when Maude pulled his saloon out from under him, she recognized the dark mood that came over him occasionally. Inez did not want another shattered glass on the saloon floor, so she left him be.

'Damn her, how did she find them? She was on shore when I threw them in.' Ezra puzzled over the subject of the tags a few minutes more before shaking his head and letting the matter go. It was never easy on him to guess the what and why of his mother's actions or abilities.

She would remain a mystery to him until the day he died.

He went back to poking around in the box and found small items that seemed to be picked out at random and packed in this box: a fake wedding ring, a cross made of pearl, two knitting needles and various other feminine things. He was about to close the box up when he came to a corner of cream paper wedged between the packing towels and the rough wood of the box.

He picked at the corner of paper with his nails until he could get a grip on it with his fingers.

When he got the item into the light, he realized it was a very old letter address to Maude and dated from August 1845.

He carefully parted the envelope and drew the letter out, careful to not tear the old paper.

_August 19, 1845_

_New York, New York_

_Maude, my dearest girl,_

_I just received you letter of June 14 and was glad to hear from you. I am glad you are well._

_Please, dearest, reconsider your decision. I am working every day and putting money in the bank in the hopes that you will change your mind and join me._

_You will never be happy where you are and never make anyone a fine wife if you stay in Georgia because of your nerves. If you see anything in your life, you must see my city and your nerves over our future will be put to rest._

_Please come and see for yourself, my dearest Maude._

_If you wish me for a husband, I will immediately go and get a home and land. There will be plenty of room for your mother and us. I hope you both of you will think the matter over and let me know in your next letter._

_Please address the next letter to General Delivery as well and I will pick it up when I can. I look forward to seeing word from you._

_Our last kiss lingers in my mind, dearest girl. The thought of it keeps me warm and sane in this lonely place._

_Your loving suitor,_

_Janson T. Lee_

Ezra did not remember much from his early childhood about his mother and father. His memories were faint where a man should be, but he knew that his mother had been married to Kimball Standish in 1843 and stayed married to him until his death in 1846.

'She . . . she had an affair,' stuttered his mind. Her way with men was never something she hid from her son as they traveled the country running their cons and clearing the tables. It was a big part of her persona during the games she played. Over the years, she had been married several times, as many as three times in one year back in the 1860s.

Ezra knew his mother was a conniver, a cheat and a colorful storyteller. However, he never considered that she had been unfaithful to his father during their marriage.

He jammed the letter back into the box and slammed the wooden lid back on. As soon as humanly possible, this was going to Maude Standish.

Let her deal with her sordid past.

He put the box under his left arm and picked up the letter from Simmons & Sons Valuables and hurried down to the Stage Company to pack the hateful box and its contents off to Richmond, Virginia.

Maude's latest letter had assured him of good pickings from the upper echelons of society in that city and estimated her stay there to be a long one. He would send a telegraph telling her to retrieve her box. She could either get the box or leave it. Either way, the damned box would be gone from his sight and that was all that mattered to him now.

Ezra gave Bart Clovis the money for the shipment and watched with cold eyes as the box was re-secured with heavy twine and the address attached to the wood side along with the letter and bill.

"This will go out on the next stage, Mr. Standish."

Ezra nodded his head. "Thank you, Mr. Clovis." Ezra turned away and paused at the door before turned back to the aging man behind the counter. "Mr. Clovis, in the future please return all items and packages from Simmons & Sons Valuables and Maude Standish to their place or origin."

"I'll need payment for the shipment—"

Ezra nodded, his green eyes narrowed. "Just present me with a bill as needed. Everything will be taken care of."

"Sure thing, Mr. Standish."

Ezra touched the brim of his black hat and continued out the door with a cold expression on his face.

In minutes, he was back at his table in the saloon with another shot of whiskey. He sipped the drink slowly and deliberately, not wanted to muddle his mind for the poker game that would come later in the afternoon.

Buck Wilmington emerged from the upstairs rooms and escorted an older woman to the main floor of the saloon. He whispered in her ear and she tried to pull off a girlish giggle, but the sound came out more like the bray of a mule.

Ezra winced as the noise and finished his drink as Buck patted the woman's backside and ambled over buckling his gunbelt around his waist.

"How you doing there, Hoss?"

The gambler raised an eyebrow and nodded to his empty glass. "Tryin' to stay sober for the evening activities."

Buck nodded and slopped his body loosely into the chair across from Ezra. "How 'bout I try with you?"

"You buyin'?"

Buck scratched his moustache and then grinned. "I guess I could lay down a coin for a drink." His right eye winked at the conman. "But only one. It's still three days 'til payday and I got other . . . purchases to make before then."

Ezra snorted as he tried not to imagine the 'purchases' that Buck was referring to. "Fine, fine. One drink should be my limit anyway considering that I've already had three this morning."

Buck dropped his smile and studied Ezra's pale indoor complexion. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing new, Buck. An old matter troubles me today. I'll be on to something new by tomorrow. Especially since I was thinking of goin' over to Watsonville to do a little betting on the horse race they're settin' up." His gold tooth made an appearance as Ezra smiled in pleasure at the thought of betting with some unsuspecting marks.

Buck let his concern drop as he gave Inez a wave and indicated two drinks. The lovely woman nodded and poured the drinks at the bar.

"Gonna make a bundle, huh?"

Ezra continued to grin. "You have no idea, Mr. Wilmington."

"Chris gonna let you go?"

Ezra cocked his head to the side and stuck out his tongue.

Buck laughed. "At least let the Ol' Dog know that you're going. He'll be mighty pissed if you don't."

"Not to worry, I'll leave a letter with Mr. Dunne at the jail before I go."

Buck happily took his drink from Inez when she swished over to their table. Inez sat Ezra's in front of him and smiled. He still had that dark look about his eyes that proclaimed deep thoughts of trouble.

The gambler didn't blink as he tossed his drink back and then stood. His hands resettled his guns and clothing. "If you will excuse me, I think I'll look in on my horse before the evening game." He nodded at Buck and smiled at Inez before pushing through the batwings.

"That boy is gonna get Chris so pissed," smirked Buck as he pushed his hat back on his forehead to show his dark bangs. He ran his tongue around the rim of his glass before taking another sip of whiskey.

Inez was torn between minding her own business and trying to do something about the foreboding feeling that shot prickles across her skin.

"Senor?" she asked quietly, her dark eyes still on the batwings as they swung from Ezra's passing.

"Yes, my lovely little rosa?"

She snorted in contempt at the pet name. "Senor Standish, he is not acting himself."

"Oh?" murmured Buck as he leaned back in his chair in a loose posture and contemplated which lady of evening would need his services tonight.

"Ever since he opened that box . . . something is not right."

"I'm sure everything is just fine, my little desert cactus."

Inez put her hands on her hips as Buck's mind drifted away from the conversation again.

Men.

She tried to put her concerns away about Ezra and his wooden box. She finally decided to say a little prayer for him with her nightly conversations with her god. A little prayer never hurt a thing.

Feeling slightly better, she went back to work, leaving Buck half-asleep in the chair.

End


	2. The Bisected Letter

The Bisected Letter

Beta: None – so read at your own risk!  
Main: Ezra and Buck  
Warnings: Language, No Beta  
Spoilers: A reference to One Day Out West – just the razor scene with Buck and Chris.

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belongs to Mirisch, CBS, MGM and Trilogy and I'm using their characters and some settings without prior permission. No money will be made from this endeavor.

Notes: This comes after The Found Letter

Summary: Buck and Ezra take a trip that turns ugly -- and Buck hates ugly. Ezra ain't too happy about it either.

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Suddenly, a shiver ran up his spine and the sixth sense that had developed from over thirty years of gambling and conning screamed at him.

"Buck," he whispered. He would speak louder but was afraid to trigger the danger that tingled along his nerves.

Ezra Standish carefully turned his head on his pillow and tried to see his roommate in the dark.

Four hours ago, Buck Wilmington and Ezra Standish arrived at a no-name dusty town to rent a double room for the night. Soon after dumping his saddlebags on the floor, Buck declared that he was turning in and suggested the gambler do so as well. It would be an early morning departure and they needed their sleep.

It had been a long, hard ride over many hot miles. Neither of them even took the time to undress before flopping on the beds in the dark room to catch some sleep. The only things they did take the time to shuck were their boots, hats and guns. Ezra had slid his derringer into his pocket just to have the comfort of the little hideout gun on his body.

Ezra had only time enough to ponder that Buck was indeed tired if he wasn't going to look in on the working girls in the saloon down the street. Buck had similar thoughts about Ezra turning in before he played a hand of poker.

Sleep was quick in coming for them.

That blissful exercise was now gone like fog on a hot day.

Ezra was beginning to wish he had gone down to a poker game and Buck was with a woman who wore too much makeup and perfume.

"Buck?"

There was no answer but a slight snore from the ladies' man as Ezra tried to ease himself from his own bed.

'Easy, easy,' thought Ezra as he tried to be silent in his quest to reach the man that lay four feet away. As he slid from his bed, he snagged his shoulder gun in his left hand. He went to his knees on the wood floor and did a blind crawl with his right hand extended to make sure he didn't crack his head open on the furniture.

His left hand that held the gun stayed at the ready, covering both the faint light from the room's window and the direction of the dark door.

"Buck, wake up," the gambler hissed through clenched teeth. Ezra's concern was growing by the second. 'Why isn't he responding? Surely, he can feel this. He's been a gunfighter and drifter for years now. He should be able to feel this.'

Ezra bumped into the edge of Buck's bed and scooted to the top. Something touched his head and he almost yelled. The gambler's right hand quickly touched the object and realized that it was Buck's gunbelt hanging from the headboard.

He pulled Buck's .45 Peacemaker from the gunbelt and gripped it lightly in his right hand. Ezra took a second to look away from the window and the door to make out Buck's lax form.

Another snore escaped from under Buck's dark mustache.

'Well, this is going to be interesting,' thought Ezra ruefully.

Ezra carefully lay flat on the floor and slid under the edge of his roommate's bed. When he was secure in the knowledge he would be relatively safe, Ezra took action.

The gambler's left hand rose and his thumb cocked back the hammer on his Remington. The click was deafening in the silence.

The only indication that his ploy to wake Buck worked was the slight whisper of leather against wood. After that slight sound, silence was all that met Ezra's ears and he had to grin to himself at Buck's attempt to play possum after discovering the absence of his gun.

"Mr. Wilmington," whispered Ezra in his soft Southern voice.

Buck was quiet as he reached again for his absent gun. "Ezra," he hissed, "what's goin' on? Where's my gun?"

Ezra reached out from under the bed far enough to raise the Peacemaker above the mattress. "Here." He almost snorted when Buck nearly broke his fingers trying to retrieve the weapon.

"Feeling a little naked there, Buck?"

"Shut up. What the hell is goin' on?"

"Quiet and feel."

Buck Wilmington clamped his lips shut to stop the smart remark to the gambler. Instead, he kept still and let the night soak into his long, lanky body. It didn't take long to feel the edge to the darkness.

Buck shook away the groggy feeling from waking from his much-needed deep sleep and peered into the darkness. "Where are you?" As annoying as the gambler sometimes was, Buck didn't want to shoot him by accident.

It also might be a little hard to explain to Chris Larabee, his friend and leader of their little ragtag group.

"Under your bed."

Buck quietly laughed as the sudden image of a rattler hiding under a log came to mind.

"It's not funny, Buck," was the indignant reply to the almost soundless mirth of his traveling companion.

"Says you."

"Feel it?" hissed Ezra as the wind picked up outside and rattled the glass in the dirty window.

"Yeah. What is it?"

Ezra shifted his gun. "Don't know yet."

Buck nodded to himself. "Where?"

"Don't know yet."

The moments turned to minutes and Buck was beginning to think they'd imagined the danger in the dark. As if reading his mind Ezra's Southern voice drifted up from under the bed. "Wait for it."

Buck settled back down for the wait. For a brief moment he whished Vin Tanner was with him on this trip. No one was more in tune to danger than the half-wild tracker.

"What's taking so long?" Ezra shifted under the bed. "We need an escape route. Now."

Buck felt slightly ashamed for slighting the gambler, even if it was only for a second. He would still be sleeping if Ezra hadn't of woke him. He should have remembered that the only thing more sensitive than a gunfighter or a bounty hunter was a gambler on the look out for disgruntled marks.

"Too long. It's going to be big," whispered Ezra, his voice falling away to almost nothing. He decided to move from under his cover.

"Where you going?"

"Out. This is a death trap." Ezra's head was level with the bed when the door kicked in. Two men dived into the dark room. Faint lamp light from the hall briefly outlined them.

Ezra took his first shot and then switched the gun to his right hand. His left hand reached out to grab Buck's shirt as Buck shot his gun at the intruders.

The gunfire was returned from the doorway, flashes bringing sound and color to the second rate room. Buck shot at the men again, muttering to himself.

As a soft sound from his pillow indicated a bullet that came too close, Buck thought, 'Damn, I'm a sittin' duck up here!' He grunted and began to struggle with his bedcovers.

Ezra didn't wait to see if another bullet came their way, he jerked Buck from the bed, heard a grunt, and muttered cursing from the dark haired gunfighter. "Dammit, Ezra! Watch the bones."

Anger kindled in Buck at the rough treatment and the shooting and he started to rise from the floor. Ezra pressed down on his left shoulder. "Keep down, you idiot. They're shooting at you."

Buck turned his head to the shooter and gaped, trying to make out their faces in the dark. 'Now, who would want to shoot me?' He stopped thinking and started shooting again as more flashes came from the shadows.

Ezra returned fire at the shadows and heard a sharp yelp. He grabbed Buck's shirt again and tugged. "Come on!"

Cursing and groaning came from the shadows, giving Ezra the hope that the two men were down long enough for him to pull Buck from the dead end room.

They needed to hide right now. Have better cover.

Buck staggered to his feet and gasped at a burning in his side. He tried to put a hand to it, but Ezra was pulling on his left arm and his gun was in his right hand. Ezra might be shorter than Buck Wilmington, but he was a male in his prime. His powerful frame propelled Buck into and down the hallway.

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"Hide, hide, hide," muttered Ezra as he kept his shoulder against Buck's left side.

"Uh, Ezra—"

"We need to hide."

"But, Ezra—"

Ezra stopped at the end of the hall by the stairs that led down to the main desk. He looked over the situation, his mind playing angles and discarding half-formed plans. Ezra kept Buck up against the peeling blue wallpaper as he glanced down the stairs and then back up the hallway.

Louder cursing floated down the hall and the sound of scrambling boots on wood.

Distraction: It worked in poker and it would work here.

Ezra reached into his pocket and pulled out his derringer. Lord, he loved the little gun. Years of helping him get away from drunken cowboys and angry mobs endeared the little chunk of metal to the gambler.

Without looking, Ezra pitched the gun down the wide stairs and pulled a now silent Buck into the first room that had an unlocked door.

Unwitnessed, the small gun landed on a tread halfway down the stairs and glinted invitingly in the faint light thrown by the main desk's lamp.

Ezra released Buck once they were inside the chosen room and continued to look for hiding options. His distraction may work but there was no telling if they would come back later after checking on his gun. It depended on how determined the men were and how stupid.

"Ezra—"

"Whoever has this room has a trunk behind this bed. Maybe—"

"Hoss!"

Ezra looked up in the dim light to see Buck holding his side, his tan shirt turning black in the darkness. "Aw, hell!" Ezra rushed back to Buck digging in his pockets for a handkerchief. "Why didn't you – never mind." He stuffed the cloth inside the wet shirt and placed Buck's large hand over it. "Hold it." He stopped to stare into Buck's shadowed dark blue eyes. "We still need to hide. It will have to wait."

Buck held the gaze with the younger man for a moment and then pressed harder on his wound. "Sure, Hoss. Gotta get a place to hole up."

"Working on it, my friend."

Ezra helped Buck sit down on the double bed and then continued his search. In the end, the sum total of what they had to work with was a closet and a trunk. Under the bed was out . . . that would be the first place they looked if they came to this room.

The window was also out as an escape route. The next-door building was built using that particular wall of the hotel as a starting point. The hole where the window used to be was now used to hold a few extra room towels.

Terribly short sighted of the builders to not consider this situation before they closed up a perfectly good escape window.

The gambler carefully closed up the large trunk and dragged it over to the closet door. He grunted at the weight and wondered briefly if whoever packed this truck was related to his mother and knew of her penchant of toting around bricks.

Ezra positioned the solid trunk between the door of the closet and the hallway door. With any luck, it would provide some cover if they were discovered.

He wandered back to Buck and felt his concern ratchet up a notch when he realized Buck's eyes were now closed. "Buck?"

"Hurts like a son of a bitch," murmured Buck.

Ezra grabbed a pillow and pulled the top patchwork blanket from the bed. He sighed as he realized he'd most likely have to pay for the thing since Buck was still bleeding. "Come on, we're moving to the closet."

Buck nodded and stood up, his hand clamping down even harder on the hot/cold feeling in his side.

Ezra opened the door to the closet and was pleased to see a few jackets hanging almost down to the floor. They would help screen them from searching eyes and muffle any sound that Buck might make from his injury.

Ezra threw the blanket on the hard floor and the pillow went into the left back corner for Buck to lean on. After helping Buck settle, Ezra slunk into the closet, leaving the door slightly ajar so that he could hear any noise at the room's door.

"Hell of a day," muttered Buck as he shifted to get comfortable.

"Yes, hell of a week," responded Ezra, his left eye to the crack of the closet door searching the room.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

"Hey," said Ezra sharply. "I did not tell you to keep my traveling plans from Chris."

Buck chuffed a laugh. "You should have been there and seen his face," Buck paused long enough to hold his breath to settle down the pain. "Thought he was gonna pop an eye out of his head."

"I guessed from the state in which I found my letter upon returning from the horse race."

Ezra Standish had not been able to resist the temptation of going to Watsonville to do a little betting on the horse race. It has been a fine event with over thirty horses vying for the prize money. It was almost like attending a county fair. Ezra gave a gloating chuckle over his winnings from that day.

The money almost made a pissed off Chris Larabee worth all the trouble.

The gambler left a letter with JD Dunne, the youngest of the group, at the jailhouse. There was no way he was going to tell Chris Larabee to his face that he was pulling up stakes and going to Watsonville to bet on a horserace.

Not if he wanted to get to Watsonville in one piece.

When Ezra returned from his trip, he found the letter torn in half and pinned to his room's door with a long bladed hunting knife.

Oh, Chris Larabee was irate to say the least.

The resulting argument that happened when Ezra finally met up with Chris in the saloon was spectacular.

"He don't mean a thing by it, Ezra," whispered Buck faintly from the corner of the closet as if he could read the gambler's thoughts.

Ezra nodded his head. "I didn't think he did or guns would have been involved."

"He just worries—"

Ezra rolled his shoulders in exasperation. "I know, Buck. If he really wanted to physically harm me, he had the opportunity." He suddenly grinned to himself, exposing his gold tooth in the dim light. "He knows how to really hurt a man such as myself without raising a hand."

Buck began to grin right back in the gloom. "Sure does, Hoss. I thought you were gonna cough a lung up when he said you had to come here. And to make sure you spent as much of your winnin's as you could."

"Bastard knows how much a cup of coffee costs out here."

"Damn straight!" replied Buck as he pulled the neckerchief from around his neck and jammed it to his side. Ezra's bit of cloth was on its last legs in stopping the bleeding. "As much as Chris roamed this territory, he knows were to avoid when he's down on his luck."

"I should have talked to him before I left," said Ezra after a moment of reflective silence.

"Yeap, you played hell, but then again, you wouldn't be enjoying my fine company while sitting in a closet."

Ezra shifted a little closer and took in the black stain on Buck's shirt. "I think I saw a doctor's sign at the end of town."

Buck grunted in return. "Sure, just have to stay alive before I can go."

Ezra went back to his post at the closet door. "Who's after you? Hell, we just got to town. How did you have time to piss someone off?"

"Well, hell, Ezra . . . I don't know. I didn't see a damn thing back there but shadows and gun flashes."

"You've come to this filthy town before?"

Buck took the tip of his tongue in his teeth and tried to think through the throbbing pain in his side. "Well . . . I may have been. When I was a lawman way back when. Had a few run-ins with a few people. They might still be around."

Ezra sighed. "Why ever did you come on this trip?"

Buck huffed again. "'Cause Chris was fixing to pound us both in the head and I figured I'd take my punishment in the form of traveling rather than healing."

The gambler nodded. "Well, on the surface that seems like good logic. Not so good when you get shot when you could have just put up with a few glares and a sore head."

"Seemed like a good plan at the time."

Ezra squinted at the ladies' man. "Why didn't you tell Chris where I went when he asked? Or even tell him about the letter waiting at the jail?"

The dark haired man rolled his head from side to side, as he leaned his aching head against the back wall. "He found out soon enough and I wanted to see him sweat a little." Buck wrenched his lips up in a smile. "He was about to tear up the town when JD came out on the boardwalk holding your letter."

Ezra snorted. "It was almost like being back in the military again with Chris around."

Buck snapped his dark blue eyes to Ezra's shape.

"Tell me, does he come by that commanding bearing naturally, or was it drilled into him?" asked a soft Southern voice.

Buck suddenly flashed on Chris' warning not to talk about him and his past. His hand almost went to his neck expecting to find Chris' limber hand holding a razor to his flesh. That was a while ago, but Chris was still as closed mouth most of the time. "He don't like to talk about his past."

"Who does?" reflected Ezra blandly. "We all have our mistakes that stick in our craws."

"Chris is a little more . . . eager to keep it to himself."

Ezra sighed and let the matter drop.

Buck could almost feel a depression settle over the gambler. "Something wrong?"

Ezra had to slap his hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing loud enough for their hunters to hear him in the hallway. "Wrong? Wrong? I'm just sitting in a closet hiding from madmen intent on killing you. What could possibly be wrong?"

Buck sucked his front teeth noisily. "Yeah, uh-huh. You are a mealy-mouthed bastard, ain't you?"

Ezra shrugged. "I have no idea what you are talkin' about."

The mustached cowboy/gunfighter leaned forward slightly. "I got word that you were upset by a box of somethin'."

Ezra felt like thumping his head against the wooden wall of their hideout in frustration. Will that damn box and its contents never leave him alone? Since receiving the box and looking at Maude's old mementos, his dreams were full of war battles and shadowy father figures. But most of all, the question of Maude's fidelity to his birth father. "Just some of Mother's things. The place where she kept them wanted to be paid since the dear woman skipped out on the bill."

"Sounds like Maude. She's slippery as a hog that's wallowed in creek mud."

"You have no idea, Buck," replied Ezra in a long-suffering tone.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each straining their ears for footsteps.

"You think they're gone?" whispered Buck.

Ezra shook his head. "Depends on why they want you dead."

Buck turned his head to look at the coats handing by them. "Where's the guy who rented out this room? What are we gonna do if he comes back?"

"Massive amounts of money."

"You think?" asked Buck in surprise.

"Anything can be accomplished with large amounts of money, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck shook his head and thought about it. If he came back to his room and found two men hiding in his closet, would he overlook it for a bit of money? His pondering went nowhere, not sure what he would do. "I'm not so sure, Ezra."

"Well, we'll come to that when it happens." Ezra pulled his wide black string tie loose and opened his frilled collar. It was getting stuffy in the small space with two grown men heating it with their bodies. "I'll be everlastingly grateful if you can think of who's trying to send you to your grave and me along with you."

"Ahem . . . well was out this way a few times to round up some lowdown mean bad guys. Nothin' special about 'em." He thought some more. "Of course, there were a few women along the way—"

"Aw, Lord, please," begged Ezra, "don't go into detail."

Buck's voice changed, getting lower in his throat. "Yeah, there was Daisy with the huge . . . uh, never mind. Patricia was out this way, or maybe that was in California. An' I think Pattie Mae was out this way. Whooee, she had the finest—"

"Buck," said Ezra sharply.

"Hell, Ezra, how am I gonna educate you boys in how to appreciate fine women if you won't listen to me?" whined Buck.

"I'll survive," replied Ezra in a dry tone.

Buck was about to respond when a soft sound came from the room's door. Ezra raised his Remington and huddled closer to the closet's doorway.

Then voices came.

"Chiter, I don't see them anywhere. That little gun was on the stairs, maybe they's gone."

"They's got to be here, Clem. Len's on the door out to the front and ain't seen them come out," replied Chiter in agitation.

"Maybe they went out back," said an aggravated Clem.

"Nah, Lester would have said something from back there. He knows how much I want that whoring Wilmington. He'll never lay a hand on her again. Not while I'm around."

Ezra shifted to throw a hard look at Buck in the gloom. Buck just shrugged and gripped his gun tighter.

The door to the room opened slowly giving Buck and Ezra a better earful.

"Bastard . . . should have shot him when he rode into town," moaned Clem.

"Damn, that would have been smart," dismissed Chiter. "Real smart, since Sheriff Colpliss was standin' right there on the boardwalk with his sawed off."

"Old fart can't hit the side of a barn."

Ezra eased the closet door shut and scooted back to Buck. They huddled in the corner and kept their guns trained on the voices.

"See anythin'?"

"Hell, no," the disgust was evident in the Clem's tone. "Bastard is more slippery than a snake crawling through bacon grease. Dammit!"

Buck perked up at that comment. He was always looking to add to his mental cabinet of homey sayings.

"Pattie Mae ain't gonna be happy when she hears about this," said Chiter. "I promised her I would take care of Wilmington."

"I told you to do it in the street. This sneaking around crap is gettin' on my nerves."

"Shut up, Clem!"

There was a sudden quiet until Clem's voice broke the silence. "How's the arm?"

There was some quiet muttering. From what reached Buck and Ezra's ears, it was mostly cursing.

"It's fine! Come on, I don't think they're in here. Let's check on Lester again."

The door slammed and slowly Ezra and Buck relaxed, but their guns stayed on the closet door.

"What in the hell did you do to Pattie Mae?" asked the gambler. His tone oscillated between amusement and anger.

"Weeell, I might have promised to marry her and then snuck out in the middle of the night."

"Buck Wilmington getting engaged?"

"It happens every now and again," protested Buck in an injured tone. "I've proposed at least ten times during my wilder years."

"Which you are still living by the looks of it."

Buck allowed himself a smirk. "Hell, yeah!"

"My, my, a woman scorned . . . will you ever learn?"

Buck grunted as he tried to get up with his stiff muscles and painful side. Ezra reached out and helped him up. When they were both standing, Ezra placed a hand on the door and carefully opened it.

The room was empty.

"Now, Ezra, you know I don't scorn women."

Ezra could see Buck wiggling his eyebrows up and down in the moonlight from the window. "Tell that to the lovely lady you left at the alter."

"Now hold on, I didn't leave her at the alter. Hell, that was months away when I left."

Ezra shook his head in disbelief. "For a man who purports to know women, you surely don't understand the place that matrimony holds in their hearts."

The gambler ghosted away from Buck and stood to one side of the hotel room's door. He reached out his right hand and slowly turned the knob. Looking back at Buck, he nodded his head and then flung with door wide.

When no shots came, Ezra poked his head around the doorframe and studied the hall.

"I believe we are free to leave."

Buck dragged his weary body over to Ezra and poked his own head out the doorway to look around.

Ezra looked at his traveling companion and caught a look of strain on his face. He let his green eyes drop to Buck's side and saw more black stain and trembling fingers.

"You need to get to the doctor."

"Yeah," replied Buck softly.

"It's only a few doors down. A piece of cake."

"Yeah," muttered Buck.

They carefully crept from the hotel room, leaving behind a bloody blanket in the closet and items on the floor from the search by the two gunmen. Whoever had the room for the night was in for a surprise when he finally came back.

-------

Ezra kept vigilant, letting Buck get himself to the front desk of the hotel.

A mousey man was sitting on a stool behind the desk when they finally reached it. The man jumped and then asked them in a shaky voice if he could help them.

"Dang, you been here all this time?" asked Buck in an amazed voice.

The meek man nodded.

"And you didn't think to get somebody here to see what all the shootin' was about?" demanded Buck as his anger began to kick up.

"The . . . the, uh, sheriff left a few hours ago to go to his cabin. It's . . . it's ten miles away."

Buck let his hard blue eyes pin the little man down. "What in the hell is your lawman doin' living ten miles away from his town? We could have been killed!"

Ezra snorted. Hell, Chris had a cabin in the back country, something that seemed to have slipped Buck's mind. He lightly pushed Buck away from the little man and leaned into the counter. "You haven't seen a derringer, have you? About this big," he help up his hands to show the size of the gun. "It would have been over by the stairs."

"No . . . no, sir. Haven't seen a gun like that."

With slumping shoulders, Ezra turned away. Those fools most likely picked it up and took it with them. Damn idiots. "Is there a sensible doctor around?"

The little man shook his head. "I don't know about sensible, but Doctor Greevy is down the street. Last building on the edge of town."

Ezra turned from the counter and put a hand to Buck's elbow. "I think I know the location." He helped the lanky gunfighter to the hotel's front door.

"Uh, won't they be out this way, Ezra?"

"No, the fools are probably watching the back door."

They studied the dark street that was empty of street fires or lamps. Nothing was moving but a faint breeze that shifted some of the free hanging business signs.

Ezra nodded and helped Buck out the door and turned them in the direction of the doctor's place of business.

-------

The doctor was a tall man that almost topped Buck, and who had a think middle covered by a blood stained white apron. His clothing looked like he had slept in them for at least three days.

Ezra almost backed Buck out of the doctor's ramshackle office when he caught the unfocused pupils of the man. If Ezra had to place of bet, he would bet that the man was sampling his own laudanum stock and frequently.

Buck was now resting from the doctor's attention while Ezra was guarding the only doorway that led to the street.

"He needs some rest," slurred Doctor Greevy. An old rusting six-shooter was on his desk holding down a few papers. Covering the rest of the desk was grimy rags and a couple of plates of leftover food. Some of the food looked laced with green mold.

Ezra shuddered and turned his eyes back to the street. "Yes, well, that may not be an option."

The doctor fingered the two gold coins that Ezra had thrust at him when he dragged Buck into the office. "You can leave him here and head out to the Sheriff's place. He can help you fellas out."

Ezra turned his pale green eyes back to the washed out man playing at being a doctor. Ezra's eyes showed his suspicions. Laudanum was a more expensive habit than whiskey. It wouldn't take much to bribe the doctor into handing over Buck if the men showed up.

"Thank you, Doctor, but Mr. Wilmington will be leaving with me."

The doctor sighed and put the gold coins away. "Where you fellas from anyway?"

'Jackass,' Ezra silently bemoaned to himself. "We are . . . itinerant at the moment." Ezra absolutely refused to tell this addict a thing. This man would sell any information immediately to any interested parties.

The doctor huffed and shut his mouth.

Ezra let the doctor fade into the background and let his sullen mind dwell on his derringer. 'Damn, I hope I get Tisiphone back. She's saved me many a time. Hate to be without her.' Then he remembered that his '75 Remington in their room. 'Damn, left Megaera behind as well.'

He was glad that he had his Remington 1875 Army revolver clutched tightly in his hand.

Buck staggered into the main room from his rest on the musty cot. "Let's get out of here," his blue eyes regarding the doctor with disgust.

The doctor dragged himself to unsteady feet and fingered Buck's bandage. Buck slapped his hands away. "Hands off, you lush," he growled.

"Buck."

"I ain't letting this lush touch me again."

Ezra nodded. "Can you stay awake while I get our stuff from the hotel and the horses?"

Buck fingered his .45 Peacemaker that peeked out from the waistband of his tan pants. "Sure, Hoss. Me an' the doc here will get along just fine." He pulled his hairy upper lip up and showed his teeth like a snarling dog.

The doctor decided it would be best to sit quietly and carefully at his desk until the crazy man was gone.

-------

Ezra contemplated the utter and complete disrespect that God had for him as he wove in and out of darkness on his way back to their hotel room.

The hotel loomed over him and he stopped under the hanging sign that proclaimed "The Celebrated Gold Hotel" to search for the idiots.

He stopped cold when he saw four men standing in the shadows of a nearby porch talking in angry voice and broad gestures.

"Dammit! Pattie Mae is goin' to make me sleep out with the cows if you fools have let that bastard get away!"

"Now, Chiter. You was there just the same as us. Clem had a right fine idea of shooting the bastard down in the street."

Ezra let the voices fade as he slipped around the back of the hotel and quietly opened the back door. The door gave a slight squeak and rattle and Ezra help his breath as he listened to the night.

Hearing nothing, he pushed inside and went to their deserted room.

He wasted little time in getting together their belongings together and scuttling back out into the darkness to retrieve their horses.

Ezra was relieved when he didn't hear the men again in his walk to the stable. He hoped that for once, his luck made them go home to the fine Pattie Mae and leave them alone.

At the stable, the two horses moaned in disagreement as Ezra saddled them up and tied on the saddlebags.

His horse was particularly bitchy about the whole procedure after walking all day to get to the comfort of the stall only to be dragged out of in the middle of the night.

"Sorry, sorry," whispered Ezra as horse teeth were shown. "You can get you're rest when I'm out of danger of being shot."

More teeth were shown.

"You better hope I'm not shot. I don't think anyone else would put up with your lazy rear end."

-------

Buck kept Doctor Greevy quite with an occasional glance at the pitiful man.

As soon as Ezra left, Buck had pulled his gun from his waistband and held it at the ready. Mostly for the benefit of the lush, but you never could tell when some idiot would turn up trying to shot holes in a body.

Buck was contemplating the wonderful charms of Pattie Mae when he knew her back when. Now that he thought on it, he really couldn't remember why he had proposed to her.

It was no secret that Buck enjoyed women and made sure that they enjoyed themselves when they were with him. Women were at the very core of his being and lifestyle. He rarely came across a woman that didn't tempt and intrigue him.

Buck was sure his warm feelings for women came from his mother's example. She did an outstanding job of raising him while plying her trade in whorehouse after whorehouse. He never wanted for much. Her love was about all he needed.

Therefore, he liked to spread that love around.

Sometimes, it got a little out of hand and he convinced himself that bedroom loving was getting married and settling down loving.

He was positive that Pattie Mae was one of those cases. And when he snuck out on Pattie Mae all those years ago, he was pretty sure she was getting cold feet just like he was, but she was reluctant to say anything to him about it.

The doctor stirred at his desk and Buck turned a hostile eye toward him. "What?"

"I think someone's coming to the window."

Buck pulled back into the shadows near the door. "Window?"

The nervous doctor cleared his throat. "Sometimes I get some uh, eager customers."

Buck nodded. "I bet. Customers who are up to no good is the only kind that probably sees you. You see who it is and I'll be right over here. With my gun."

The doctor pulled his shade and looked into the night. Clem and Chiter were there and Clem motioned to the door. The doctor nodded after a moment and replaced the window shade.

"They want to come in."

"You just keep your mouth shut until they get in here."

The doctor wiped his sweaty palms on his stained apron and got to his feet. He made sure there was a goodly distance between Buck and himself as he went to the door.

The old door was cracked a fraction and the doctor peered out at the men.

"Ey, Doc, Chiter here got a bullet in his arm." Clem dug into his pocket and pulled out some greenbacks. "I got cash."

The doctor almost forgot about Buck at the sight of the roll of money. "Come on in, fellas."

The door opened quickly as the men pushed in, Chiter grumbling about the pain in his arm.

Everything froze as they laid eyes on Buck in the shadows with his big gun pointed at their bellies.

Time hung up as eyes shifted and muscles tightened.

"Things are about to get ugly if you boys decide to go for your guns," drawled Buck with squinted eyes.

Clem was uncertain. He knew that Len and Lester were outside, still looking for this very man that stood before them. They would come if they heard gunfire.

However, gunfire could be a bad thing in such close quarters.

Chiter, on the other hand, had no problem pulling his gun on this bastard. After all the stories that Pattie Mae told him of this son-of-a-bitch, he was ready to gun him down.

Without any talk or second thought, Chiter went for his gun.

The doctor dove for his desk.

Clem tried to fall backward out the door, but didn't quite make it.

Chiter . . . well, Chiter just died where he stood as Buck pumped two bullets into his chest.

As Buck moved his gun to cover Clem, he saw the man trying to wiggle the rest of the way out on the boardwalk and out of danger.

"You! Back in here!" called Buck as he surged forward to pull on the man's right boot. "Where're the others? Huh? Where!"

-------

Ezra was almost back to the doctor's office when he heard the shots.

Damn if they didn't sound like they were coming from where he had left Buck. He threw the horses' reins over a post and, with a gun in each hand, he ran for Doc Greevy's.

Ezra was almost on the boardwalk when two unfamiliar men came skidding around the corner from a dark alley. Guns glinted in their hands.

"Len!" cried Ezra on impulse and the taller of the two men swiveled his head in Ezra's direction.

"There's the friend!" snarled Len to his companion.

The two men changed their path to meet Ezra at the doctor's front door.

Ezra Standish wasn't usually a man that would shoot to kill without trying to talk his way out of trouble first. This situation was different. Buck was somewhere in the building and there were guns all around in this hostile place.

There was no time for tact or diplomacy.

Ezra put a bullet into Len with his Remington in his right hand and at the same time twisted the gun in his left to get a clear shot at Lester.

Lester went down when he pulled the trigger.

Ezra stood over the men with his breath coming hard from the short run and the sudden action. Lester was moaning softly while he clutched his chest. Black blood was coating the splintered boards of the walk.

Ezra kicked his gun away and then moved to check Len. He kicked him hard in the side and watched as the body shifted and then went back to being still.

He wanted to check on Buck, but knew he couldn't leave a hostile gun at their backs. Ezra took the time to search both men for hidden guns and turned up his prized derringer.

Ezra felt happy at the return of his little gun, but quickly pocketed it and turned to look for his friend.

The door of the office was still cracked so Ezra didn't need to holster either of his guns to gain entry into the place. His well made boot kicked the door in with the sound of cracking wood.

Ezra came face to face with a pale Buck Wilmington.

The gambler almost clutched his chest in fright.

"Damn, Hoss! Didn't anyone ever tell you it ain't polite to just bust in on a man," said Buck as he quickly lowered his gun to cover Clem on the floor.

Ezra shook his head and ignored the question. "Let's get out of town while the getting is good."

"The others?"

Ezra put up his shoulder gun and held out a hand to assist Buck back to the horses. "One dead, the other is quickly joining him in hell."

Clem squeaked from the floor and Buck looked down at the cowering man. "Tell Pattie Mae that she was a right fine woman and I didn't mean to do a thing to hurt her. I'm right sorry if this one here meant something to her, but a man is going to shoot back when someone's trying to kill him."

Clem didn't say a word as his eyes followed the two men out the door. Both men, one dressed like a cowboy and the other like a riverboat gambler, kept their guns on him and Doc Greevy as they slowly fled.

---------

Buck and Ezra reached the horses with twin sighs of relief.

"Cover me," whispered Ezra as he holstered his Remington to help Buck into the saddle.

Buck grunted as he tried to split his attention between getting on his horse and keeping a look out.

"You settled?" asked Ezra as he stepped back.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here."

They didn't use the main road to get out of town. They just cut down one of the town's alleys and rode into the brushy surrounding land.

They rode in silence, both trying to be sure they weren't being followed.

It wasn't until the sun peeked over the horizon and their view of the surrounding area showed them nothing but flat ground and little to no cover for enemies that they started to relax.

Ezra took out his flask and offered Buck some whiskey as they stopped to check the wound.

Buck sucked the liquor down as Ezra prodded at the bandage. "Easy there, Hoss. I ain't that drunk yet."

Ezra shook his head, but let Buck continue to guzzle his whiskey. "The wound doesn't appear to be any worse than when we fled that horrid little town." He looked around. "You want to take a rest? We're still a distance from where we hang our hats."

Buck looked at the morning sky and rolled his shoulders to ease some of the strain of the hard ride.

"I want to go home," he finally said in a plaintive tone.

Ezra chuckled under his breath. "Indeed."

They resumed their trek at a walk.

"You know, it's still your fault I'm here," said Buck as he swayed with the rhythm of his horse's stride.

Ezra made a sound that would have made a constipated bull beam with pride. "Please! All you had to do was tell Mr. Larabee where I was going. Or about the letter I left with J.D. Anything that has happened to you on this little trip is squarely on your own head. And Pattie Mae's"

Buck rolled his eyes.

"May I suggest you not come to this part of the country again? She seemed a mite put out by your shared history," said Ezra as he pulled a small brown bottle of Red Eye out of his saddle bags and joined Buck in his morning repast of burning liquor.

Buck nodded. "You've got that right."

"May I never see another letter," muttered Ezra.

"What's that?"

"Nothing, just talking to myself."

Buck snorted and pursed his lips. "That's no way to get good conversation. Now, a good subject for conversation is women. Did I ever tell you how I met Pattie Mae? I saw her comin' out of the saloon and she had the most—"

"Buck, if there is a Lord in Heaven, you won't finish that sentence."

Buck's chuckle sounded suspiciously like a giggle as they gave their tired horses a little encouragement to get them home.

End


End file.
